The Island Goes to Band Camp
by Funkypunkydurdurchick
Summary: An excuse for a band director, a second-rate middle school band, and nothing to do-until the subject of band camp pops up...
1. Mighty Ridgey Hills Middle School Band

Disclaimer:I don't own our band; THE ISLAND DOES

Disclaimer:I don't own the band; THE ISLAND DOES!! MWAHAHAHA!

"All right," Mr. Roberson announced in his usual drawling monotone. "Quiet down, quiet down. As for our announcements today, I just want to say, if you haven't turned in your practice logs, do it NOW. And I mean NOW." Mr. Roberson continued on, oblivious to the various arguments going on in the back row.

"Kelsi, Charlie, are you guys listening?" he asked the trombones, looking up from the papers he held in his hand. They didn't answer. Ashley, a baritone player, watched as Mr. Roberson glared at Charlie. Tears began to fill her eyes. "He ain't done nuttin', Mr. Roberson, I mean it. If you think he done did somethin' I'm quittin' band!" She pulled her knees up to her stomach and buried her face between them.

The low brass, though they weren't the most intelligent bunch, stuck together through thick and thin. If one of them was going down, the other four went with them.

"Ashley, let it go," Mr. Roberson groaned. "I wasn't even talking to you." He continued with the announcements.

"Also, for those of you who are thinking of—" Mr. Roberson's head jerked up to the sound of cards shuffling from the back of the room. He craned his neck to look over the percussion pit, but no one was back there. Sighing and tossing his papers over his shoulder, he walked around to where the percussionists were supposed to be standing, only to see three pairs of legs sticking out from behind the bass drum.

"WOO-HOO!" I win! Jessika shouted, throwing her cards up into the air. She jumped out from behind the drum, only to come face-to-face with Mr. Roberson. He sighed and shook his head. Jessika giggled and grinned at Vaughn and Marshall, the other two percussionists.

"Fifty sentences, all 'a y'all." Mr Roberson muttered, "due tomorrow, no exceptions." He walked back to the podium and picked up the list of things that he still had yet to address.

"Anna, are you chewing gum?" Mr. Roberson snapped, looking at his last chair clarinetist. "Et tu, Parker?" Anna and Parker smiled, each with her gum hanging on the tip of her reed.

"My office, now," Mr. Roberson said. "Go."

"Lizzie! Stop that! Vaughn, go stand in that corner! Gosh, you guys are such morons!" Mr. Roberson shouted, finally losing his temper. "You're never gonna be a good band if you're always acting like this! At Lizzie's all-region band," he pointed at Lizzie, the mischievous first chair flute. She gave him a large fake angelic smile. "Over there, they never made the band director stop to tell them to stop talking! Ughh, why can't you guys just act right?" Once again, Mr. Roberson was in one of his grumpy moods.

"Temper, temper, Mr. Woberson," Lizzie said to him in a babyish voice, wagging her finger at him. The class burst out laughing.

"That's not funny, Lizzie," he replied, listlessly.

"Okay, let's get started. B flat scale, one note at a time. And a one, a two, a one, two, ready, g--hey, where's my baton?" He began frantically searching around his stand for his prized ivory baton.

"We gave it to MELISSA…" Keeth, the last-chair trumpet, replied, batting her eyelashes. The class laughed again. Last year at band camp, Mr. Roberson had a crush on one of the college-age counselors, Melissa, and ever since, the entire class teased him about it, even though it had been an entire year ago.

"Shut up," he snapped at us. "Thanks, Lizzie." Lizzie had been the one who had spread the story around in the first place, so he snapped at her every time someone brought it up.

"I like puh-tay-toes," came a voice from the trumpet section. The front row turned around to see Susan, a trumpet player, as his eyes dilated and his expression grew crazed. "I like puh-tay-toes," Keeth chimed in. "I like puh-tay-toes," Lizzie started up, too.

"Oh, craaaaaaaap," Mr. Roberson groaned, "You guys never quit, do you?" He stomped his foot as a final attempt to cease the racket. 1"Hey!" he shouted. "Aren't you guys paying ANY attention? Be quiet!" The room went quiet except for Vaughn's shuffling of cards. Mr. Roberson shot him a dirty look, and he immediately stopped.

"Back to the important stuff," Mr. Roberson said, anxiousness still in his voice. Katrina was the only person in the entire band that was actually listening to him now. She sat up intently, holding on to every word that he said. He shuffled through his notes, stammering. "Ah, eh, uh, Band Camp! If you want to go to band camp, there's forms in the mounted folders when you walk in." Everyone turned to face the entrance of the band hall. An underclassman that had come to collect attendance slips stood in the doorway. He had just gotten out of in-school-suspension, and he was still slightly shaken, so this kind of attention was too much. He dropped the orange slips that he had been carrying and bolted out the doors.

A few people giggled. "Back to this, I highly recommend the camp where the high school band director and I went to college. It's much nicer than the other one anyways." Mr. Roberson laughed at his own remark, while everyone else ignored it. The students that were planning to go to camp had already arranged to go to the cheaper one. For another matter, they wouldn't ever in their worst nightmares go to camp where Mr. Roberson had gone to college.

"And by the way, just yesterday, we received a package in the mail containing one-thousand, one hundred fifty dollars. It was intended strictly for the purpose of sending five children to band camp. At the end of the year, we will give out scholarships for the same camp Katrina and Lizzie went to last year." Every student in the room cheered except for Luke and Charlie, who couldn't have cared less.

It wasn't long before the bell rang. Before heading toward the door, seven students flocked together to discuss band camp.

"I'm going to band camp!" Lizzie exclaimed. "I went last year, so I've got to go this year! I can't help it!"

"Me too," Katrina sighed. "But it'll be my last band trip."

"What?" Keeth asked, puzzled. Everyone looked at Katrina.

Katrina sighed. "Yep. I had to pick whether to stay in athletics or band next year, so I'm going to athletics. I'm sorry." She pushed the band hall door open, and they all left.

"Alls I can say is that we're gonna miss you," Lizzie said. They all gave Katrina a big group hug.

"Aww, you guys," Katrina said. "I guess I'll be the first Islander to actually quit band.

"Awww, y'all. My daddy's making me go," Susan groaned.

"I wish I could go to band camp," Josie said. "It's too bad I don't have the money for it."

"Me too," said Marshall, smiling at Josie.

"I mean, y'all'll probably get those scholarships, and I'll be the only Islander left in Ridgey Hills all summer!" Josie complained.

"But it's BAND CAMP! Why would anyone want to go to band camp? Band is like, well, BAND!" Keeth exclaimed. She had never been very dedicated to band. Keeth was raised to be a cowgirl, and since she had already devoted her life to horses, she didn't have anything to offer to the band.

"Well, you know, band's just something to do. It's not like it's a way of life or anything," Vaughn mumbled, looking at the ground.

"Aw, Keeth! Vaughn!" Lizzie exclaimed, jumping in front of them. "Band is FUN! Besides, band camp's more about dances and swimming and meeting weird other-school kids than band if you want it to be," Lizzie stood up straight and smiled. "I, however, go for the music!"

Vaughn cast a strange look at Lizzie from under his long blonde hair. "Freak," he mumbled. "Apparently band is a way of life for some people."

"SMEEEEEEEAAAAH!!" All of the Islanders froze dead in their tracks. They looked over their shoulders, only to see the sight that they dreaded most. Billy Bob was their mortal enemy, and though he stood only a little over four feet tall, he knew how to rip a person in half.

The next morning, they all sat on the band hall porch and waited on Mr. Roberson to arrive and unlock the door. While most students stood around the pavilions gossiping, the Islanders spent every morning waiting anxiously for their old, dilapidated field house-turned-band hall to be opened to them.

It wasn't long before Mr. Roberson came up the steps and unlocked the door. "Yay!" they all screamed. They stampeded into the band hall, only to see the ancient room that they called their home.

"Hoedown!" Keeth yelled. She turned on Mr. Roberson's keyboard and started playing some kind of jazzy country music, recorded it, played it back, and they all started dancing in circles. "YEEEEEEE-HAAAAW!" Keeth shouted.

"Guys, stop," Mr. Roberson said. "I'm in a bad mood," he always said that. With that, he began his everyday ritual, which started with retreating to his office and locking the door.

"Gay fag," Vaughn mumbled under his breath. Josie burst out laughing, slapping him on the shoulder. Lizzie rolled her eyes. For almost four months, Josie had been constantly stalking and flirting with Vaughn. He walked across the room and grabbed the blue M&M doll from the crumbling music shelf, with Josie following close behind.

"Hey, Lizzie, look at this!" Vaughn yelled to her. He held up the doll and threw it at Mr. Roberson's window. The plastic eyes in the doll clattered against the window, making a loud crashing sound. Lizzie whirled around to see him dash out the door, laughing as he went. The next thing she knew, Mr. Roberson was standing next to her, staring her down.

"Lizzie, fifty more sentences, due next period. And, you are to leave the band hall until it is time for class. Lizzie rolled her eyes and left.

The bell rang, signaling for all of the seventh grade band students to come to the band hall. Mr. Roberson probably expected Lizzie to have fifty "I will not throw fat M&M dolls at your window as an attempt to actually murder you or save Marshall from your office even though Vaughn actually did it"'s written already.

Vaughn ran back into the room. "Didya get in trouble, Lizzie?" he yelled.

"I will not hit Vaughn and strangle him and feed him to the scary people who killed Lucas," Lizzie replied, glancing over at the three students outside the door who were ripping apart crickets.

"Uh oh," He mumbled.

Lizzie chased Vaughn around the room until she got caught and assigned fifty more sentences from Mr. Roberson.

"I will not chase blonde percussionists around the room and throw pantsless Mickey Mouse dolls at them."


	2. The Band Banquet

"Hello, and welcome to the Ridgey Hills Independent School District's annual band banquet

"Hello, and welcome to the Ridgey Hills Independent School District's annual band banquet. Today, we will give out awards to the most prominent band students of the year," The high school director said, smiling his thick-jawed smile. A gaggle of sixth grade girls sat in the corner, discussing how hot they thought he was, every now and then commenting on how retarded they thought Mr. Roberson was. "First off, our sixth graders will receive their awards…" the high school director continued. Lizzie, who sat close to the door, started looking around. Being in seventh grade, she couldn't have cared less about the sixth graders' awards. Through the glass door, she saw Marshall standing against the fence outside, reading a book on mythology.

"Smeeeeeaaah!" The faint battle cry of the Evil Midget echoed through the cafeteria, drowning out the band director's voice. Lizzie looked up, but Billy Bob was nowhere to be seen. She looked back outside, only to see Marshall pinned to the wet ground with Billy Bob on top of him. Lizzie gasped quietly, watching in horror as Billy Bob kicked him around, then entered the cafeteria as if nothing had happened. He leaned down to Lizzie. "I killed Marshall," he whispered. Lizzie pushed back her chair and ran outside, ignoring the stares from the other band members and the band directors. Even the high school band director had stopped speaking for a few seconds to watch her.

"Marshall! You okay?" Lizzie yelled approaching the seemingly dead body. His eyes were open, but he wasn't moving. "Oh, my gosh! Billy Bob really did kill you!" Lizzie was freaking out. Vaughn ran around the building from the basketball court nearby. He shook his blonde hair out of his eyes.

"Whuh?" he mumbled.

"OH, MY GOSH! THE EVIL MIDGET KILLED MARSHALL! OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH, OH—MY—GOSH!" Lizzie was now jumping up and down hysterically.

"Relax, Lizzie." Vaughn put his hand on Lizzie's shoulder as an attempt to calm her. "Marshall can't die; he's surrounded by the zen pixies! "Vaughn said, running around and prancing like some sort of moron. Lizzie burst out laughing. Vaughn always knew how to make a person laugh.

Just then, Marshall let out a sigh. "OH MY GOSH!! MARSHALL'S ALIVE!!" Lizzie shouted. "HE'S ALIVE!"

"I wasn't dead," Marshall scoffed, sitting up. "I was just trying to make you guys believe I was dead."

"No, you weren't," Lizzie said. "I could tell. You weren't hardly even breathing."

"And if you really were alive, what was Lizzie doing when you were pretending to be dead?" Vaughn piped up.

"Uh, ah, well, she was, erm, uhh…" obviously, Marshall hadn't been awake. As soon as he said that, he plopped back down and "pretended" to be dead again. Vaughn put one foot on his Marshall's chest and struck a triumphant pose. It wasn't long before Vaughn and Lizzie went back into the building.

"And next up," announced the high school band director, "I believe that Mr. Roberson has a few scholarships to present to our five most prominent seventh grade band students." He nodded and stepped off the podium, and Mr. Roberson stepped up.

Katrina, Susan, and Lizzie had made sure ahead of time that they weren't getting the scholarships. They were already registered for camp, so they didn't have any reason to win a scholarship.

"Most improved musician award and scholarship goes to Miss Keeth Hughes. Keeth has far surpassed our expectations with—" Mr. Roberson picked up another card. "—her skill, because she is only a first year trumpet player." Keeth approached the podium and accepted the scholarship.

"YAY, KEETH!" Katrina and Lizzie yelled. As mediocre a trumpet player as Keeth was, she deserved the award, because she'd put forth the effort to learn a new instrument after everyone else had already had a year's experience.

"Best rhythm award goes to Mr. Marshall Richards, percussionist." Marshall, too, received a round of applause and an envelope with a scholarship inside.

"Best musician of the year award goes to Miss Josie Russell, third chair French horn at all-region band!" Josie beamed. She had always dreamed of this moment, and without a second thought, skipped up to the front of the room and smiled. She took the envelope and skipped back to her seat, despite a few titters from the audience.

"Most games of blackjack won this year award goes to Mr. Vaughn..erm, Gaylon? Also a percussionist!"

Vaughn pushed back his chair and swaggered to the front of the room. He took the envelope from Mr. Roberson without any emotion. "It's Galyon," he hissed under his breath. He acquired a scattered round of applause.

"And last but not least, the award for the most improved low brass goes to…Mr. William Williams, tuba player!" The Islanders gasped as the crowd clapped for all of them. As happy as they were that all of their fellow Islanders were going to band camp, there was the one thing that ruined it all.

Billy Bob's going to band camp. That was all the poor Islanders could think of. They were going to have such a great time at band camp, but now they also had to always be on the lookout as well. However, that wasn't even the scariest part. The scariest part was that every member of the Island that was in band was going. Things were never normal when an Islander was around, so naturally, something was bound to go wrong.

Band camp was from June 20-24. On June 18th, Mr. Roberson demanded that all of his band camp-goers come to the band hall to practice with him.

"All right!" Lizzie shouted in Josie's face. "I can't wait! This is gonna be so much fun!" Lizzie let out a high pitched yelp and jumped onto one of the chairs. She began walking across the row where the trumpets and trombones usually sat, and the blaze in her eyes indicated her plans to jump on top of the bass drum. Before she reached it, Mr. Roberson grabbed her flute out of her hand and locked himself in his office. Lizzie let out a bloodcurdling shriek. "CLAUDIA! WHAT IS THAT MANIAC DOING TO YOU?! YOU'RE DEFENSELESS! SAVE YOURSELF!! AAH!! MY POOR, POOR FLUTIE!!"

Mr. Roberson came out of his office, holding Claudia in his left hand seemingly unharmed. "Bass drum a no-no," He said to Lizzie in a baby voice. Lizzie snatched Claudia and ran and pouted in the corner. "Be that way," Mr. Roberson said.

Vaughn came into the room. "Aw, crap. I hate this freakin' place," Vaughn muttered, tapping his mallets together. Josie, Marshall, and Lizzie jumped up. "VAUGHN!" they all shouted. Though Vaughn was the most dysfunctional of them all, he was probably the most popular person in the room. Wait, scratch that; No one could hate Vaughn. He WAS the most popular person in the room.

It wasn't long before Katrina, Keeth, Susan, and Billy Bob arrived. "SMEEEAAAH!!" Billy Bob shouted. He grabbed Vaughn's arms behind his back and shoved him into the percussion closet.

"William, let him out," Mr. Roberson mumbled, digging through the papers in one of his folders.

"Aww, Mr. Roberson, he tried to eat me!" Billy Bob lied, groaning.

"Let him out..." Mr. Roberson said.

Billy Bob did as he was told. He backed away from the door, letting Vaughn free. The door remained closed. "Vaughn?" Billy Bob called. In a matter of seconds, Vaughn burst through the door, hissing like some kind of rabid cat. He ran as fast as he could, straight to the brass closet, slamming the door behind him. Unfortunately for him, the Islanders were too concerned with their baseball game in the corner with Billy Bob's Harry Potter books to notice.

Katrina was the first to practice with Mr. Roberson. Everyone else had been instructed to sit in the chairs against the wall and wait their turn.

"Hey, Susan," Keeth whispered.

"Yeeeeees, Keeeeeeth?" he peered over his glasses, looking her straight in the eye, even though his mind was evidently on something else.

"I like puh-tay-toes."

"HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!" Keeth and Susan both burst out laughing.

"You kids had better be quiet. I am trying to tutor a student here!" Mr. Roberson said to them. Lizzie pointed and laughed silently.

All of a sudden, a thump came from the ceiling. A series of rhythmic thumps followed. Did the band hall have an attic? It couldn't, could it?

"Whuh?" everyone murmured their opinions.

"It's Supermaaaaaaan!" Susan exclaimed. "He has come to save us from Mr. Jubjuuuuuubs!"

"Maybe it's just squirrels in the attic," Josie suggested matter-of-factly. "I mean, this place has plenty of places where they could get in."

"Or maybe it's the sun god," Marshall testified.

"Sun God? What the heck is that?" Susan scoffed.

"It's an ancient Mayan God. It will bring you back to life when–"

"I still say it's Supermaaaaaan!"

"I know it's not."

"Whyyyyyyy?"

The Sun God will get you, Susan. Karma, ya know."

"C'mon, Marshall, the Sun God wouldn't hide in no stinkin' ceiling!"

"Neither would Superman."

"Ya got a point."

"So what is it?"

"I do not know, Marshall."

Suddenly, the thump came again, this time from the far wall. "Little help?" a faint voice called.

"YAAAAAH!" Lizzie exclaimed. "It's a FREAKIN' GHOST!" Everyone knew that ghosts had been a fear of hers since she had claimed to have seen one firsthand at her house.

"Lizzie!" it called. "Chill–out."

"IT'S OUT TO GET ME! I KNEW IT WOULD! SOMEONE HOLD ME!" Marshall grabbed her arm.

"I didn't mean seriously."

"Oh."

"Hello?" the voice called. "Vaughn in danger! Will one of you retards get me outta here?" The thumps grew louder.

"You are not Vaughn, you creepy moron. Show your face!" Lizzie cried. Tears were making their way into her eyes, as they usually did when she sensed a spirit.

Even louder blows were being thrown on the wall. Eventually, the cheap plywood walls gave way, and a huge hole emerged. The Islanders ran to the wall to see what it was. Vaughn's head poked through the hole. "Hello, children!" Vaughn exclaimed. Everyone burst out laughing except for Mr. Roberson, who had left his office to see what was going on.

"Vaughn, how the heck did you get in the walls, and why did you do it?" Mr. Roberson exclaimed.

By the look on Vaughn's face, everyone could tell that this was the beginning of one of his long, drawn-out stories in which he spoke so rapidly that a person could only understand half of what he said.

"WellIranintothelowbrassclosetafterbillybobletmeoutofthepercussioncloset, right? Andiclimbeduptheshelvesandoverallofthosetubasandstuff, right? Butitwasdarkandboringthere, right? So anyways, InoticedthisholeintheceilingandIwasall, 'Cool, there's a hole in the ceiling!'"

Everyone just nodded their heads, lost in his sea of ramblings. Vaughn continued his story.

"WellanywayIdecidedtoclimbuptherecauseithoughtisawapossum, Ya know? AndthenIgotupthereandIwasalllike, 'Cool, it's dark!' soisortaclimbedaroundupthereandsawanopeningandijumpeddownthereandiwasalllike, 'AHHHHHHHH!'soikeptfallingandilandedinthewallandiwasalllike, 'dude, awesome! I'm in the wall!' sothatshowigothere."

"Mmm," Marshall mumbled. "Interesting."

"So where's Billy Bob? I want him to hear my story!" Vaughn exclaimed.

"Hey, guys! Look at me! Hey, I can see you from up here, Vaughn!" a voice called. Vaughn looked up, only to see two eyes gleaming back at him. Being over three-hundred pounds, Billy Bob fell through the ceiling.

"I'll be gone soon. I do not have to pay for their crap," Mr. Roberson mumbled under his breath, retreating to the other side of the room to continue working with Katrina. "Oh, and guys?" he called to the Islanders. "Go home. I don't wanna work with y'all anymore." They all shrugged and went outside to sit on the porch and wait for a ride.

"Wow," Lizzie said. "This place has so many memories. Are y'all gonna miss it?" She asked the other islanders.

"Nah."


End file.
